At least the people at my table kept me supplied with beers as the night dragged on. The alcohol made the vibe less awkward, and a pleasant buzz kicked in. I really couldn’t complain.
Then, when most of the others were drunk, making out, bored, or deep in conversation, one guy—Klongi? Kleini?—leaned in conspiratorially.
“So, Decks, have you ever heard of the mystical creatures in our forests?” I barely understood what he said thanks to his thick accent.
“Of a few, ja.” Come on, at least Itriedto speak their language.
“There are very many big, scary creatures.” He raised his arms and howled like a fake ghost at a haunted house. “But none as cool as the Elvertritsch.”
“What’s an El-fur-dritch? Like an Eldritch Horror?”
“El-fur-dritch.” He repeated the word slowly and exactly how I had pronounced it before.
“With a hard D.”
I stared at him. The fuck did he mean by that?
With a hard dick? What kind of creature is that?
“Okay yeah, a hard D, ha.” I forced a laugh, and his face softened. Then my brain caught up, and I remembered what Guns had told me at our first team practice.
The locals’ pronunciation didn’t distinguish between d and t, or b or p. They used ‘soft’ or ‘hard’ to indicate how a word was spelled.
“Doch net so dumm,“ he murmured into his beard and even drunk as I was, I couldn’t shake the feeling he wasn’t my biggest fan.
“The Elfurdritch is a creature in the forest, very hard to catch, very big, and only comes out in the dark.” Every time he pronounced very with a w, a shudder travelled down my spine. It felt as if my brain was shivering in my skull.
Don’t be a judgmental asshole, Decks, I scolded myself inwardly.At least he’s trying.
“Only Americans have caught the creature. They like Americans, you know? And they have ridges.”
“Ridges?”On their hard Ds?
“Yes, you know, money, gold.”
“Oh, riches, yeah.”
“Yeah, very ridge. They’re hard to catch, but when you get one, they give you their ridges.”
What the hell, get out of the gutter, brain!
Brownies had ridges. I’d played with one in college and I had never seen an entire hockey team so united in their interest in a single dick.
“So when you want to trap one, you need a big stick”—he didn’t make it any better—“and a net. Just put the stick up, put the net over it and wait. Very easy.” He stared at me, and I had no clue what he wanted.
Sorry to disappoint? No ridges to expect from this guy, only a perfectly boring human D.
“Jörg’s dad has a…Schuppen.”
“Sorry?”
“A Schuppen. You know, for his tools?”
Why the fuck does everything he says sound sexual? Is he hitting on me?
I mean, yeah, it had been a while since I’d gotten any, but that guy definitely wasn’t my type.
“A shed?”
